Last weekend my cousin Arielle became a Bat Mitzvah. She chanted beautifully and my heart swelled with pride. When Arielle’s portion of the service concluded, she bounded off the Bimah and plopped down in the seat next to me. She then raised her right hand and curved her index finger like a pirate’s hook, and whispered, “yarr.”
This may seem completely out of the blue, but it in fact wasn’t. The night before Arielle celebrated her Bat Mitzvah, my entire family attended Friday night services. Let’s just say it was unlike any service I had ever experienced.
From the moment the service began, there was an air of discomfort in the room. No one knew the songs as they were being led by the clergy, not even the regular congregants. And on the rare occasion that a common melody was found, it seemed that the cantor warped it so that everyone would return to their state of mumbling confusion.
When I wasn’t seething with jealousy at the red-haired toddler a few rows away who had a full bag of Cheese-its, I stared off into space. But then, the service was saved by the rabbi who may have just been old enough to drive himself to work. He stood and shared a very, er, special tale with the congregation. It went a little something like this:
So, there were these pirates who captured a prince. But don’t worry; his father was looking for him. When the prince found this out he was so happy he threw a party. And that is the meaning of Shabbat…
I wish I were making this up. I’m probably going to be an English major; I can stretch almost any idea to fit logically with a theme or thesis even if there is nothing to defend it. And I’ll tell ya, I was completely stumped by this story. Pirates? Princes? Shabbat? It was beyond me; it still is. However, from that story came a new family joke, one that will entertain us for years to come. So, I guess the story did have a purpose; it created a special Shabbat memory for me and my cousins…even if it made no sense.
